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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131004">unaware that i'm standing right beside you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship'>bstarship</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkiwannamarvelyou/pseuds/ithinkiwannamarvelyou'>ithinkiwannamarvelyou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Ghost Tony Stark, Peter Parker Misses Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker doesn't get a hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, and tony doesn't either, because he physically can't, peter doesn't understand his six sense, peter parker doesn't know how to brush his teeth, tony making fun of peter for almost 10k words</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:20:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkiwannamarvelyou/pseuds/ithinkiwannamarvelyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From filling the search engine with "exorcism priests near me" to "Ghost Adventures phone number", Peter is on Google until his eyes grow heavy. And for the most part, Tony doesn’t say anything. He watches each Wikipedia article dive, wondering if Peter can feel his presence each time Tony sticks a hand through his head. Peter’s subtle reactions are worth the trial and error of not making physical contact. While the kid worries about ghosts, Tony worries about accidentally getting his hand stuck in Peter’s skull.</p><p>Peter is on edge until morning. When Tony speaks, the kid scratches at his neck, and whenever Tony tries to make contact, Peter stiffens. There’s something there for him, something that tells Peter it’s much more than his natural senses. And, while Tony doesn’t mean to frighten the poor kid, he’s thrilled. He no longer feels as alone.</p><p>Those small moments of uncertainty are all that fill his days now. He’s not living—he’s barely existing. But he’s here with Peter, and there has to be something more.</p><p>or </p><p>Tony is definitely not a part of the Haunted Mansion's 999 happy haunts. He is, in fact, not that happy. And Peter doesn't know a damn thing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>unaware that i'm standing right beside you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank u to d for writing this with me !! u can find more of her writing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkiwannamarvelyou">here</a> and follow here on tumblr <a href="https://ithinkiwannamarvelyou.tumblr.com/">here</a> !</p><p>u can find me on tumblr at <a href="https://itsybitsyspiderling.tumblr.com/">itsybitsyspiderling</a> !</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s not a lot that Tony doesn’t understand—Hot Pockets, ultimate sports, and Himalayan salt lamps are among the few items. All he knows, right now, is a strange sensation beneath his skin. One moment it burns, and the next, he’s numb. His initial instincts tell him that he ate his body weight in carbohydrates the night before or that someone had slipped an Ambien into his dinner. The room around him is cold, graying in the shadows while moonlight pours in from a cracked window. Tony doesn’t shiver as the breeze touches his skin.</p><p>His surroundings are familiar. Bits and pieces of a life he knows glimmer beneath the silver hint of the moon. Toys are tucked away in bookshelves between stories he has read a thousand times. He knows this to be his daughter’s room.</p><p>But Tony isn’t sure how he got there. He supposes that he isn’t really there at all.</p><p>Any ache he has suffered, any strain that once tugged at his weak heart, had noticeably vanished. He feels light on his feet, but it doesn’t feel good. It feels empty.</p><p>He must be in a lucid dream, he tells himself. He touches the air on his fingertips, watching the shadow of his arms float against the room’s backdrop. Everything is together, everything is in one piece. But, as Tony furrows his brows deep against the ridge of his forehead, he knows that something isn’t right.</p><p>“It’s just a dream,” he says aloud, breathing out through his nose while he presses a hand to his chest. Nothing where his housing unit should be. His hand falls, and then a creak echoes through the room.</p><p>Tony’s head turns as a small lamp lights up beside Morgan’s bed. And suddenly he doesn’t care about whether or not he’s dreaming anymore. He smiles, and he feels so warm.</p><p>Morgan sits up with her usual quizzical expression, hair matted down against her forehead with strands sticking up at the top. The clock beside her bed reads 1:45 AM.</p><p>She mumbles something he can’t understand while her tired eyes scan the room. So, Tony kneels beside her, still smiling in hopes that she’ll smile back. Yet her gaze never meets his.</p><p>“Momo, what’re you doin’ awake?” he asks her in a playfully scolding tone.</p><p>Morgan’s stare is locked over his shoulder, and with a small twist of her lips, she settles back into bed. Tony stays and watches as her eyelids flutter back into a deep sleep, and he can’t help but want to wake her again so he could hold her tight. He thinks about all of the adventures they’re going to share, all of the memories that she’ll grow up making with him. Tony’s pride is heavy in his chest.</p><p>He kisses her forehead and turns out the light. Even if this is a dream, it still feels wrong to not whisper, “goodnight.”</p><p>Once Tony leaves her room, he sighs to himself and remembers how content he is with his life. It’s a good life; he made it that way.</p><p>But his thoughts aren’t the only thing he hears in his head. There are voices, soft, incoherent, and too far downstairs for him to easily listen in on. He follows the sounds, all the while wondering what his wife could be doing awake.</p><p>He feels light but he feels happy as he descends the stairs. Yet something is still wrong. <em>Something is wrong</em>. He sees the back of Pepper’s head, and his smile grows.</p><p>“Had to put Little Maguna back to sleep,” he says to Pepper. “She stared at me like I was—” His smile falls. “Pep?”</p><p>She doesn’t turn to face him. She doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Tony’s gaze falls on Happy, and he’s staring off into space, holding Pepper with one arm as she buries her face in his shoulder. He doesn’t look at Tony either.</p><p>“Hap, hey,” Tony greets with a raised brow. “What’s going—”</p><p>Through the open front door, Peter Parker appears. And Tony’s heart leaps. <em>Peter is there. Peter is alive.</em></p><p>“Oh, my God, Pete—” Tony stops himself. He really is in a dream.</p><p>Dirt covers Peter’s face. Blood, too. It occurs to Tony that he looks the same way he had on Titan. The metal Spider-Man suit clings to his skin as if it has become a part of him. And Peter’s eyes—red-rimmed, watery, and wide—don’t even glance Tony’s way.</p><p>“Th-thank you,” Peter sputters out to Pepper before swallowing down his pent up emotions. He inhales sharply and fidgets with his hands. “Thank you f-for letting me stay here tonight.”</p><p>Tony can’t see Pepper’s face, but he can feel her sad smile stretched tightly against her cheeks. She releases her embrace from Happy and wraps her arms around Peter’s shoulders. All Tony can do is watch the moment take place. And then Peter starts to cry.</p><p>“Pete?” Tony whispers, voice breaking. “You okay?”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>He clenches his jaw as he turns his head toward Happy. Happy, who has never shown emotion whether it’s good or bad, is crying, too.</p><p>“What the hell did I just walk into?” Tony asks aloud. “Pete, did you show them that one anime that you showed me?”</p><p>No one answers, and the soft sounds of Peter’s cries are muffled by Pepper’s sweater. Tony has long left the idea of his dream behind. Now, it feels too real, but he feels invisible.</p><p>Tony has had enough of feeling invisible.</p><p>“Peter, what is going on?” he says, his voice now firm and overbearing as he reaches for Peter’s shoulder. The touch is gentle, but all he can feel is the weight of it. The texture is gone. He can’t feel the cool, dusty metal of the dented Spider suit, and he can’t figure out why Peter is there in the first place.</p><p>
  <em>He’s back.</em>
</p><p>Tony’s hand falls, trembling and stiff as he stares down at his fingers. His healthy, un-crisped fingers. Peter is back, Tony thinks, and everyone else is, too. But, after a few shallow breaths, he realizes that, while they are no longer gone, then he must be.</p><p>He remembers it. The explosion, the broken landscape, the many faces of those he will never know, and, <em>God</em>, he remembers the pain.</p><p>Tony flexes his fingers as he stares at his loved ones in disbelief. They’re grieving him. They’re crying for him.</p><p>Tony is the one who is no longer alive.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God, I have to do integrals again?” Peter whispers to himself, leaning down over a pile of papers on his desk. He has been like this all night—scribbling away at hours-worth of homework only to get caught up in doodling on the pages. A pile of eraser shavings sits beside him.</p><p>He lets out a soft sigh and writes his name at the top of the assigned paper. His handwriting has been getting gradually worse throughout the night, and he’s not embarrassed by it, nor does he try to fix it. His brain is exhausted.</p><p>Peter taps his pencil against the desk. “State why the integral is improper, determine whether the integral converges or diverges, and evaluate the integral if it converges,” he reads, sighing once more as he jots down a few notes.</p><p>“You know this, kid, don’t stress about it,” Tony says. He’s been there the entire night, watching as the stress in Peter’s shoulders grows with each passing minute. When he’s not focused on Peter, he counts each collector’s item or knick-knack on the teen’s shelves. Tony has the entire room memorized by now.</p><p>Peter doesn’t say anything while the numbers flow from the tip of his pencil. Each line is shaky—borderline chicken scratch to the point where Tony can hardly read them. But his handwriting wasn’t much better during his sleepless nights.</p><p>“It diverges,” Tony mutters over Peter’s shoulder. “Make sure you write that or the teacher won’t give you credit.”</p><p>To Tony’s dismay, Peter skips down to the next question. His pencil hovers for a bit, tracing shapes into the air before it moves back up to the last problem. He writes the word “diverges” and circles it.</p><p>“‘Atta boy,” Tony says with a grin. “Also, the next one diverges, too. I’ll give you a chance to figure that out.”</p><p>It has been like this for months. Tony used to know everything there was to know about science, but now, he’s fooled by his own existence. Whether he managed to turn himself invisible or is stuck on a plane between life and death, he has come to question it every day. And every day, he stays by Peter’s side, and his completely unaware.</p><p>Esotericism was never Tony’s strong suit, but he knows a certain doctor who is a master of the mystic arts. That, however, will not be taken into consideration.</p><p>When Tony speaks, he speaks to humor himself. He speaks for the sake of hoping that, one day, Peter will answer. But he never does. Nevertheless, Tony has something to hold onto. He has a reason to not <em>let go,</em> as a spiritualist might call it.</p><p>“Did I get this for you, Pete?” Tony asks while he’s examining the shelves once again. A rare collector’s edition Lobot stares back at him. “Ah. No. Wait—it was Ben’s, wasn’t it? Yeah. My bad.” </p><p>From over his shoulder, Tony can see Peter still hunched over his desk. There is always a moment of suspense—a moment where Tony wonders if this will be the time his thoughts won’t go unanswered, and then the silence filters in. He’s left with a fallen smile and a sigh, only to get his hopes up next time.</p><p>Peter is in deep concentration for a while, and Tony can’t find it in himself to speak anymore. All he can do is watch with pride as the kid’s intelligence pours out of him.</p><p>“No, no, back pedal, kiddo,” Tony says, keeping his eyes trained on the unsolved problem below Peter. “It’s three over two. Two is the denominator.”</p><p>Peter’s head shoots up, and Tony’s heart—if it was physical and beating—drops. But, while he waits, Peter stays quiet as he straightens his posture. His hand flies right to the back of his neck.</p><p>“What is it?” Tony asks.</p><p>Peter glances at his half-opened window and walks over to it. Once he sticks his head outside, Tony can hear the sirens and the tires screeching from down the road.</p><p>“Police chase, innit?” Tony stands from the bed as Peter rushes over to the closet where his suit is hung. “Pete, you’ve got like—” Tony eyes the homework. “—four more problems left. If you leave now, then I have no choice but to do the rest for you. You know how much I hate problem-solving.” He laughs at himself. “Can’t keep a straight face when I say that. I’m kidding. They didn’t call me a smart ass in college for nothing.”</p><p>There’s a small beat of silence while Peter wrestles with his suit, and Tony flinches at the sight of a billion dollars being treated like an old pair of Levi’s.</p><p>“So, this is how you honor my legacy, huh?” Tony asks as he folds his arms. “First, you ignore everything I say, then you go and beat up my stuff? Tell me how you really feel.”</p><p>Peter tugs his mask over his head with a huff. “Karen,” he says to his AI. “Track that car.”</p><p>“Okay, we’re gonna have to talk about that name at some point, kid, cos’ she’s way too nice to be a Karen.”</p><p>With one leg out the window, Peter glances over at the alarm clock beside his bed. The time reads 11:42 PM. “Shit,” he mutters, sighing. “It’s fine. I just gotta be back before May figures out I left. It’s fine.”</p><p>“Count your blessings, Pete—” Tony says as Peter makes his exit. He knows the kid is gone, but he continues, “—before you end up like me.”</p><p>The next ten minutes are filled with Tony’s quiet criticism toward high school teachers these days—a genius-level billionaire like himself feels fried after one question. His hand twitches over the pencil, fingers aching for something to touch for once, and then they meet the solid surface of the chewed-up Ticonderoga. A gasp stops in his throat.</p><p>Tony picks the pencil up carefully, afraid that it will slip from his grip, but it never does. And, for the first time in months, he writes.</p><p>He's still working when Peter crawls in through his window––several hours past what Tony knows May has declared to be curfew. He collapses in his bed with the suit still on and sleeps for four solid hours, while Tony whittles away energy on calculus equations.</p><p>After ignoring three separate alarms, Peter finally wakes with a groan. He looks down at himself—the suit covered in various dark stains—and sighs.</p><p>"Look who's finally awake," Tony calls, standing up from the desk. “Can I just say, loved the choice of alarms. The barking followed by the UFO sounds? Nice work.”</p><p>"Have to stop sleeping in the suit," Peter mumbles, pressing down on the spider and wriggling out of the now loose fabric.</p><p>"What you <em>have </em>to do is take a shower," Tony says. "Assuming you have the time––" He glances at the clock on Peter's desk and sighs. "—which you don't."</p><p>Peter's eyes find the clock and he stands with a swear, the suit falling to the floor.</p><p>"I can't be late again," he says, scrambling around the room in search of clean clothes. He passes through Tony on his way to his dresser and it feels a bit like someone's mixed Tony's insides with a blender. He steps to the side as Peter shudders.</p><p>"Yeah, let's not do that again," Tony says, making sure to steer clear of Peter until he runs out of the room, tugging a shirt over his head. He follows along to the bathroom and witnesses a massacre. It's like Peter sprayed a hose around the sink instead of just turning on the faucet—there are droplets of water on the mirror and small puddles forming around the sink.</p><p>"Pete, you've dropped most of the toothpaste in the sink," Tony points out helpfully, although Peter doesn't notice. The high schooler takes maybe a minute to scrub at his teeth before spitting in the sink and rinsing his mouth. Tony watches with disgust.</p><p>"Morgan brushes her teeth better than you."</p><p>Peter smiles at himself in the mirror, and Tony's heart aches for the kid he barely got to mentor. He wishes, for maybe the millionth time since waking up in this state, that he could reach out and hug him.</p><p>Peter passes him to leave the bathroom, headed back towards his room. Tony steps out and stands in the hallway, arms crossed.</p><p>"Pete, you should really brush your teeth again," he calls. "Can't have bad breath in front of that girl you like. What's her name? MC?" He pauses, a hand on his chin. "No, that's Hammer."</p><p>In front of him, Peter stops. Turning slightly, he stares straight ahead, almost directly meeting Tony's gaze. After a moment of concentrated frowning that almost convinces Tony that he has somehow materialized, Peter walks back into the bathroom and brushes his teeth for a second time.</p><p>Standing next to him, Tony stares at himself in the mirror.</p><p>"Did I do that?" he asks himself, as beside him, Peter brushes much more thoroughly. It seems as though their eyes meet in the mirror, and although Tony knows he can't <em>really </em>feel anything, it doesn't change the way the breath gets caught in his throat.</p><p>But Peter's eyes do not widen. He does not freeze or scream or faint at the sight of the ghost of his mentor. Instead, he finishes brushing, spits and rinses, and then leaves the bathroom. Tony watches the boy grab his backpack and say goodbye to May. With a sigh, he follows in Peter's footsteps, resigned to his new job as invisible caretaker.</p><p>Walking down the hallway of Midtown Tech, Tony has to fight not to lose Peter in the sea of students. In the rush before first period, the halls are crammed wall-to-wall with high schoolers, most of which are carrying large projects or advanced looking robots. Luckily, even when Tony can't see Peter in the crowd, there's something that keeps them attached, a cord linked between their minds. He lets himself get pulled by it, through the crowd until he can see Peter again, standing with Ned at the lockers on the right-hand side. The two friends share a handshake Tony cannot for the life of him––pun intended––keep up with.</p><p>"Did you understand question thirteen on the calculus homework?" Ned asks as they walk towards their first class. "I worked on it for like, two hours, and I still don't think I got it."</p><p>Peter sighs. "I didn't finish the homework last night. I was out until four."</p><p>"In the suit?" Ned asks––a bit too loudly, in Tony's opinion.</p><p>Peter shushes him, and Ned apologizes.</p><p>"Maybe Ms. Lee will let you have an extra day to finish them," he offers.</p><p>"Yeah," Peter says, looking down at his shoes as they make their way down the hall.</p><p>"Don't beat yourself up, kid," Tony says, walking just behind the two of them. "You were out saving lives, not wasting time." He knows Peter won't hear him, but feels the need to comfort him anyway, anything to erase the frown the kid is sporting. "Anyway, I finished the homework for you––just this once, don't make it a habit––"</p><p>"Did you want to come over after school this week?" Ned asks. "I just got a bunch of new LEGO sets––I was thinking we could make a stop motion version of <em>The Last Jedi."</em></p><p>Tony stops walking. "I'm sorry, I don't speak <em>nerd</em>, could you repeat yourself?"</p><p>"That sounds great," Peter says, "though I'm pretty sure with our combined attention span, we won't make more than three seconds of that movie."</p><p>As Ned argues his case, Tony looks at the kids around them. Most of them look similar to Peter and Ned––on the smaller side, focused on something in their hands, or talking animatedly with friends.</p><p>"It's so weird, being in high school again," Tony says. "Though, this school is different. In my school, I was one nerd in only a few, <em>and </em>I skipped a few grades. Practically walked into that building with a target on my chest." He walks backward on Peter's heels. "At least here, you guys are all genius freaks."</p><p>At the lockers to the left, Tony spots a tall girl peeking up at Peter over her book, <em>A Short History of Nearly Everything. </em>Her gaze is so intense, Tony half expects it to burn holes on the back of Peter's t-shirt. He turns on his heel and leans forward.</p><p>"That girl is staring at you," he says, and Peter's head whips around. Just as he spots the girl in the crowd, she ducks her head down until it's hidden by the book.</p><p>"What?" Ned asks, and Peter looks back to him.</p><p>"I think MJ was staring at me," he says.</p><p>"Sweet," Ned says, stretching the word out.</p><p>"For once, I agree with Mr. Leeds, here," Tony says, looking back at MJ. "It <em>is </em>pretty sweet."</p><p>At the idea of Peter having a normal life, Tony feels overcome with something––pride? Relief? Spending this time with Peter has shown him all the ways the kid has followed in his footsteps, so it's refreshing to see something different. Something good.</p><p>Peter and Ned turn the corner and walk into a classroom, following a large group of teenagers. There is a flurry of chatter and moving heads as the students settle into seats, turning towards each other. Peter yawns as he sits at a desk directly behind Ned, laying his head on his arms.</p><p>Tony sits on the desk of a kid next to Peter, swinging his legs.</p><p>"This feels incredibly stupid," he says, and then pauses. "Though I guess that's the theme." He turns to the lanky boy whose desk he's sitting on and waves a finger. "Don't even think about taking a nap in my ass."</p><p>"Please pass your homework to the front of the class," Ms. Lee calls, standing in front of the desks. Next to him, Peter sighs, pulling a red folder out of his bag and grabbing the papers Tony had scribbled over last night. Peter squints at the bottom of the page, frowning. In front of him, Ned turns to grab the pages.</p><p>"Dude, what's up?" he asks.</p><p>Tony leaps up off of the desk and walks around to Peter's shoulder. He finds his handwriting, which is slanted worse than Peter's own.</p><p>"I really did it," Tony says, at the same time as Peter says, "What the hell?"</p><p>"Dude, c'mon." Ned waves his hand at Peter until he passes his homework to him. Tony watches as it gets passed to the teacher, the wheels turning in his brain.</p><p>"If I could finish your homework, why couldn't I just write you a message?" he asks, spotting a pen on Peter's desk, the cap chewed up. With a deep breath, Tony reaches for the pen—and his hand goes through the desk.</p><p>He tries for the rest of the class period, but nothing ever connects.</p><p>So he goes back to talking. He can't seem to stop spewing information, although no one around him ever has any response. It's uncontrollable, a reflex created from years of awkward silences he just couldn't take anymore. Death, in a way, seems to be the worst awkward silence Tony's ever dealt with.</p><p>"I can't believe Morgan's going to be in high school one day," he says as a group of girls walk by. "I wonder if she'll want to go to this nerd school too. She's incredibly smart. Definitely cooler than you, no offense."</p><p>"Do you think we're going to have the pull-up test today?" Ned asks, a hint of fear in his voice. Peter shrugs. They're on the way to the locker room to change for Gym, Tony trailing behind them.</p><p>"Probably not. Coach Wilson probably just wants to let us play dodgeball again so he can sit on the bleachers and call fouls."</p><p>Ned laughs at that, and there's even a hint of a smile on Peter's face as they reach the locker rooms. Tony stops at the door.</p><p>"I think I'm gonna wait out here," he calls to Peter's retreating figure. "The mix of Axe body spray and gym shorts is setting off my allergies."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“—y’know, honestly, I don’t think you’ll even need Logistics at MIT,” Tony says aloud, stalking the halls while Peter waits for his free period to end. Between scrolling on his phone by the lockers or taking fifteen minutes in the bathroom, the kid doesn’t do much else. “It’s not a business school. I’m tellin’ you right now—if you even think about starting a tech company, we’re gonna have to have a serious conversation about your career priorities. You can’t become a mini-me for the sake of being a mini-me. It doesn’t work that way. Why does this place even have a Logistics elective anyway? We need to rid the world of Elon Musks. He’s just ruining himself now.”</p><p>Peter’s lack of response is met with a sigh. Once Tony leans back against the lockers, the metal creaks behind him.</p><p>And Peter jumps.</p><p>Tony stares at him, wide-eyed and confused while the kid holds a hand to his heart. There have been moments like this—moments where a bridge is crossed and, somehow, the plane of Tony’s existence mixes with Peter’s. Moments where Tony feels normal, but only for a few seconds before it passes once again.</p><p>The bell rings shortly after, and students file around them. Peter doesn’t budge until Ned appears out of thin air.</p><p>“You okay, dude?” Ned asks, furrowing his brows. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”</p><p>“No, m’fine,” Peter says. “This school is just old as hell.”</p><p>Tony chimes in with a gasp. “Are you calling me old?”</p><p>“Maybe it was a ghost!” Ned exclaims over the crowd of students, and the noise only picks up from there. “Suzan Yang says that, when her brother went here, he used to see this old man mopping around the woodshop bathrooms.”</p><p>“So, a janitor,” Tony remarks.</p><p>“You mean a janitor?” Peter says to his friend, and Tony raises a brow as his lips quirk upwards.</p><p>“But he was <em>transparent</em>.”</p><p>Peter shakes his head, ruffling out his unkempt hair before rubbing at his eyes. He has hardly slept a wink throughout the last week, and all Tony can do is watch as his old habits pass down through a selfless kid. “You really believe in that stuff, dude?” Peter asks his friend.</p><p>“You don’t?”</p><p>Tony can feel Peter’s energy shift the moment his spine straightens. As the kid looks off down the hall, a mess of commotion trickles in. Cheers and chants of <em>fight, fight, fight!</em> echo throughout the narrow space, and Tony can practically hear Peter’s thoughts in his head.</p><p>“Don’t even <em>think </em>about—”</p><p>“Do you think Flash pretended to beat up another Freshman again?” Ned asks before Tony can finish.</p><p>Peter shrugs, but he laughs lazily at his friend’s question. “Probably. Didn’t one break his nose last time?”</p><p>“There was blood everywhere.”</p><p>The three of them near the growing circle of people, Tony lagging behind with his gaze locked on Peter in case the kid decides to pull anything drastic. He can visualize the cogs turning in Peter’s brain. Whether it’s his spider instincts or normal, human, I-can-totally-make-things-right instincts, Peter is prepared to intervene—Tony knows it.</p><p>The kid thinks he can take a punch, and he can, but he’s better off telling everyone that he’s Spider-Man than showing it.</p><p>“I can’t see anything,” Ned whines softly, standing high on his toes before slumping back down on his feet.</p><p>Peter, being around the same height as Tony, tilts his chin to see the hallway brawl. Limbs fly while swears and threats tumble from the high-schoolers’ lips. It’s almost comical to witness, and Peter most likely thinks so, too. He used to talk about fighting Captain America during every chance he got. And while he’s the tough, heroic Spider-Man by night, then he’s also witnessing spitting contests and lanky scuffles by day.</p><p>“Pete, if you ever get into a fight like this, I swear to God, I’m gonna resurrect from the dead and—”</p><p>Tony cuts himself off as Peter urges forward and knocks a few shoulders back to make room.</p><p>“Oh no you don’t,” Tony says. “You get back here, Spider-Twat.”</p><p>Before Peter can step into the ring, Tony reaches out to tug him back by the hood of his jacket. It’s an attempt he doesn’t expect to succeed, but it does.</p><p>Peter is rigid, hands flying back to his hood while he glances at everyone around him. He looks right through Tony.</p><p>“Ned, did you just pull my jacket?” Peter asks his friend once he meets back up with him. His eyes are wide, eyebrows knitted while he sorts out his hood.</p><p>“Don’t be daft, kid—” Tony chuckles dryly. It feels as though his body has been injected with a hundred ounces of pure caffeine and tequila. But the feeling is slowly draining. “—I’m just haunting you.”</p><p>“No,” Ned answers, and quickly continues, “but did you see the fight? What’s happening? Is there blood?”</p><p>Peter shakes his head. His expression never changes. “Let’s get out of here, man. I don’t feel good.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. You okay?”</p><p>He looks to his left. Right where Tony stands. “I’m fine.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Talk to me. C’mon, talk to me. It isn’t that hard. Just talk. We’ll talk about anything you want. Politics? Okay, no, you’re like, twelve—what was I thinking? Sports? You don’t play ‘em, but you like baseball, right? You like the Mets? I heard McNeil is back. What about <em>Star Wars</em>, eh? I haven’t seen it since 1996, but I could listen to all of your theories and whatnot. I haven’t seen any of the new movies; you’ve gotta have a reaction to that. C’mon, Pete, just talk. For once. I’m dyin’ here. Sorry, that came out wrong.”</p><p>Tony used to find Peter’s life amusing. It was nonstop entertainment, from stories about who tripped at lunch to nailing his thumb to the table in his woodshop class. But now, Peter’s life is cyclical. He goes to school, attends the same boring classes, and then, afterward, he spends a few hours accompanied by his hero complex on the streets before he goes home to do his homework. It’s the same routine.</p><p>And Tony has no choice but to follow along with it. It doesn’t matter where he may wander off too—some days, he blinks, and he’s right there with Peter. It’s always the same.</p><p>They’ve been on the train for thirty minutes. Peter, who has forgotten his headphones for the third time this week, sits beside Tony with his gaze trained ahead.</p><p>Tony hums the Jeopardy theme song close to Peter's ear, but the boy doesn't flinch.</p><p>"Where are we going?" Tony asks, dropping his head to his chest. He had been over in the living room, watching The Bachelor with May, and then he was suddenly trailing after Peter as he walked to the train station. He hadn't expected Peter to go anywhere today––the kid had just been on the phone with Ned, telling him he was staying in all night to catch up on his homework.</p><p>And now they're on a train towards Manhattan. The car shakes and sways as they cross over a bridge, shoulders of strangers bumping into each other. Tony stands perfectly still, unaffected by the movement of the living world.</p><p>"Can you give me a hint to where we're headed?" he asks, his chest tightening with the beginnings of anxiety. Peter seems nervous, chewing on his bottom lip, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. The kid is always filled with some kind of never-ending energy—but this feels different.</p><p>The train slows to a stop and Peter stands, walking towards the opening doors. Tony follows, looking around for clues as Peter walks out into the city streets. Buildings loom overhead and people bustle around, the sidewalks packed with the evening rush home.</p><p>"Rockefeller Center?" Tony says, spinning in a slow circle. He quirks an eyebrow. "Are you hitting up the LEGO store again?"</p><p>But Peter goes the opposite direction, towards Central Park, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Tony speeds up to walk by his side.</p><p>"Is something going on? Why would you be headed—" A businessman walks through Tony, yelling at someone on the phone, and Tony forgets what he was saying. In the moment he pauses, Peter keeps moving, tugging Tony along with whatever connects them. As he is pulled, Tony tries to gather his thoughts.</p><p>"So we're in the city," he speaks aloud, squinting up at the buildings Peter is passing. "You got us tickets to <em>Hamilton</em>, didn't you? I mean, I've already seen it, but I'm always down for round two." It's second nature to tease Peter, even after all the weeks spent playing the kid's personal phantom. The issue is, it's not as fun as it used to be—Peter doesn't try to defend himself, or scoff and respond with an equally sharp retort. Tony's words are for him alone, and he's never thought of himself as good company.</p><p>Circling around Peter, Tony tries to come up with another reason for Peter's secret outing.</p><p>"Are you secretly a <em>second </em>masked vigilante? Was one not enough?" Eyeing the kid's backpack, Tony wishes for X-Ray vision, glaring at the grey fabric for a second before giving up.</p><p>Despite the noise from the city surrounding them, Peter's silence is suffocating. Tony feels the urge to throw a tantrum that could rival his daughter's, stomp his feet loud enough to break through whatever wall is keeping Peter from seeing him. He stops in the middle of the street and sees if he can resist being pulled being Peter, but once there's too much distance between them, he is being tugged forward again.</p><p>Peter pauses six feet ahead of Tony, mouth tight and eyes wide as he glances over at something to his left. People pass by them without a word of annoyance. It only takes Tony a second to catch up, but when he does, a familiar emotion radiates off of Peter. Beneath the scaffolding of a building on 63rd sits a chipping portrait—a mural that has already had its fair share weathering and power washing. And Tony, just like Peter, can’t look away.</p><p>“Shit,” Tony says quietly, not to Peter but to himself as he stares at the art like it’s a reflection. And, in a way, it is. His face is painted in a white outline, red and golden armor framing to show the man underneath. Across the top, <em>Our Hero </em>is written in black.</p><p>Peter’s nostrils flare as he takes it in. He doesn’t spend every day wallowing in the loss of Tony. He doesn’t look at every single bit of graffiti that lines the streets and thinks about the mentor he misses. But then there are days when it seemingly hits like a ton of bricks. Peter was already feeling low, and then this twisted the knife.</p><p>“Kid—” Tony sighs, reflexively setting a hand on a shoulder that he’s not supposed to touch. He doesn’t think twice about the brief texture of cotton beneath his fingers. The feeling is gone a moment later.</p><p>Peter flinches and swipes at his shoulder. While their hands don’t make contact, the look on the kid’s face is irreplaceable. Tony wonders—and desperately hopes—that Peter had seen something and not only felt it. He looks around at the strangers, searching for whoever might have touched him, but he doesn’t remove his hand from his shoulder. Meanwhile, Tony can’t stop staring at his own.</p><p>He doesn’t say anything after that. He waits and watches while Peter collects himself. With one quick glance back at the mural, Peter continues down the street past generic pharmacies and eyebrow salons. A few restaurants line the sidewalk across from them.</p><p>It’s when they’re at a crosswalk that Tony finally notices the people sitting at a table. They wave over at Peter, the little one more fervently than the oldest. Everyone is smiling. Tony stops in his tracks—though it doesn't matter, as he gets pulled along as Peter continues forward.</p><p>"Pep?" he says in disbelief as they near. That's her, his wife, sitting next to their daughter, the two of them smiling at Peter. In the orange glow of the sunset, Pepper's hair looks like fire, strands of it whipping across her face from the wind. Beside her, Morgan is grinning from ear to ear, practically bouncing in her chair. When Peter gets close enough, the two of them stand, Morgan running around the table to latch onto Peter's legs.</p><p>"Petey!"</p><p>If Tony's heart was still beating, it would have stopped. Morgan's voice, pitched up with excitement, is the most beautiful thing he's heard since waking up. Pepper hugs Peter, the three of them in an embrace that hurts Tony to look at. This is his family, some of the most important people in his life, and he's <em>here</em>, and yet—he's not. He watches Pepper intensely, taking in all the slight differences from the last time he saw her. She looks tired, like she's been copying his old sleep schedule, but she's smiling as they all sit back down.</p><p>"I'm so glad you could make it," she says to Peter, who is much more relaxed now that he's with them.</p><p>"Thank you for inviting me," he says, ever the polite boy May raised. Pride clenches it's fist around Tony's heart, squeezing tight. The conversation shifts around, from Peter's school life to what Morgan's been drawing in her kindergarten class, and Tony just soaks it all in. There's pain in everyone's expressions, in the glimmer of their eyes and the curves of their smiles, but it feels like a cut that's scabbed over, beginning to heal.</p><p>While Pepper tells Peter about the growing garden at her cabin, Morgan mashes her string beans with her fork, splattering pieces of the veggies across the white tablecloth. Smiling fondly, Tony leans over the table beside Peter.</p><p>"Morgan," he says, putting on his sternest parent tone, "stop playing with your food."</p><p>Peter whips around in his seat and stares right through Tony's chest. His gaze is intense as he glances around at the area around them, his brow furrowed.</p><p>"Peter, is everything okay?" Pepper asks, placing a hand on his arm. Morgan stops crushing her vegetables to watch Peter, her eyes wide.</p><p>"Kid, you're freaking my family out," Tony says, as Peter turns back to the table.</p><p>"Sorry, I just thought I heard something," he says, forcing a tight smile. The tension at the table dissolves, and although Tony continues to insert himself into the conversation, Peter doesn't react again.</p><p>After Peter desperately tries—and fails—to pay for dinner before Pepper can, he hugs them both goodbye and heads back home. On the train ride, he is unusually still, an expression on his face that tells Tony he's piecing something together. Tony, for once, doesn't try to fill the silence with words, instead focusing all his attention on trying to make his hand connect with Peter's shoulder. The last time it happened, he could have sworn Peter wasn't just searching the crowd for a stranger who would have touched him, but someone he knew.</p><p>All his attempts of contact fail by the time the train slows at Peter's stop. The walk back to the apartment is quick, Peter barely saying hi to May before shutting himself in his room. Tony stands over the kid's shoulder and watches as he types <em>how to tell you're being haunted </em>into the Google search bar.</p><p>"Jesus, kid, you watch too many horror movies. I'm not haunting you, I'm just watching over you." Tony grimaces. "Guess that still sounds pretty weird."</p><p>It goes on like that all night. From filling the search engine with <em>exorcism priests near me </em>to <em>Ghost Adventures phone number, </em>Peter is on Google until his eyes grow heavy. And for the most part, Tony doesn’t say anything. He watches each Wikipedia article dive, wondering if Peter can feel his presence each time Tony sticks a hand through his head. Peter’s subtle reactions are worth the trial and error of not making physical contact. While the kid worries about ghosts, Tony worries about accidentally getting his hand stuck in Peter’s skull.</p><p>Peter is on edge until morning. When Tony speaks, the kid scratches at his neck, and whenever Tony tries to make contact, Peter stiffens. There’s something there for him, something that tells Peter it’s much more than his natural senses. And, while Tony doesn’t mean to frighten the poor kid, he’s thrilled. He no longer feels as alone.</p><p>Those small moments of uncertainty are all that fill his days now. He’s not living—he’s barely existing. But he’s here with Peter, and there has to be something more.</p><p>“This is gonna sound kinda crazy—” Peter begins as he sits at the kitchen counter for breakfast. It’s late in the morning on a Saturday, and May is leaning up against the fridge as she waits for the hot water in her Keurig to finish heating up. “—but I think something weird is going on with my senses. Like, um—okay, how do I put this? Uh—”</p><p>“You’re doing well, kid,” Tony says. “Don’t burst a blood vessel tryin’ to explain it.”</p><p>Peter furrows his brows deep above the bridge of his nose. His cereal sits in a soggy lump below him. “I have this sixth sense or something, right? Almost like a third eye. Like I can sense things before they’re about to happen or whatever. But I think it’s much more than that. I know you don’t believe in ghosts, but—”</p><p>“Can you <em>see</em> ghosts?” May asks as her jaw falls. The Keurig sputters coffee into a mug that says <em>trying to get my shit together</em> next to a poorly drawn cat.</p><p>“What? I—no.” Peter shakes his head. “No. I’m just <em>feeling</em> things. Weird things. Like someone is following me. And I think I even heard them.”</p><p>May twists her lips, meanwhile, Tony holds back a smile. “Wow. That’s… a lot. Are you okay?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Peter says and twirls his spoon around a few times. “Fine. I just—I know it sounds so weird, but it has to be my senses. It’s the same feeling.”</p><p>“You know what this sounds like?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>May takes a sip of her coffee. “Sounds like a trip to Mister Strange.”</p><p>“<em>Doctor</em> Strange,” Peter says.</p><p>At the same time, Tony huffs out, “yeah, sure, get Magic Mustache to help,” and then he thinks about it. “Wait, actually, you totally should get Magic Mustache to help. He’s always up to some weird, mystic shit.”</p><p>“I mean, yeah,” Peter sighs out. “He probably could help. I just don’t know where he lives.”</p><p>Tony scoffs and points to his chest. “What do you mean? You’ve got a personal map right here. Get dressed, kiddo. That wizard is highly judgemental. I don’t think mesh shorts will be allowed near his precious cauldron.”</p><p>May shrugs. “Just trust your instincts. Maybe whatever is haunting you will lead you to him. Or he will lead you to him. I don’t know how his powers work.”</p><p>Neither does Tony, now that he thinks about it.</p><p>“There’s something else,” Peter mumbles. He waits a moment to continue. “I-I think—<em>God</em>, it’s so stupid. It just <em>feels</em>—I don’t know how to—”</p><p>“Spit it out,” Tony tells him. “Don’t be shy.”</p><p>“I think it’s Tony.”</p><p>For once, Tony doesn’t know what to say. He keeps at a distance, arms folded while he stares at Peter in disbelief. Proud disbelief. Excitement. So, Tony whispers, “it is me, kid. You’re right.”</p><p>But Peter doesn’t hear.</p><p>“Told you it was stupid,” he mumbles to May.</p><p>She shakes her head. “Maybe it’s not, though. I don’t really know what you’re feeling or if it’s just a grief thing—I don’t know. But is there really harm in believing things that might not be true?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Okay, well—” She waves him off. “—in this case, I don’t think there is. Go visit that Sorcerer Doctor and see if he can help. There’s no harm in it.”</p><p>“I just don’t know where to find him,” Peter says with an edge of whining in his tone.</p><p>“Bleecker and Sullivan,” Tony says.</p><p>“I mean, I think,” Peter mumbles and scratches his head. His face contorts briefly. “I know he lives in the city. Near, um—near—”</p><p>“Washington Square Park. Greenwich Village.”</p><p>“Near Greenwich,” Peter adds.</p><p>Tony nods and grins. “Great. Now say it with me—Bleecker and Sullivan. C’mon. I know my voice is rattling up in your brain somehow. Bleecker and Sullivan. Big creepy building. Always chilly and smells like must. Got it? B-L-E—”</p><p>“Bleecker Street, I think.”</p><p>“Oh, thank God. Finally.”</p><p>Peter gets up from the counter, and Tony can feel the sudden rush of adrenaline radiate off of him. He passes right through Tony to place his cereal bowl in the sink.</p><p>“Can I borrow ten dollars?” Peter asks his aunt with a smile. “Just for the train. I’ll even get us some falafels while I’m in the city. Please, May?”</p><p>She sighs, jokingly rolling her eyes before nodding toward her purse. “Fine. But you need to get a job soon. Claiming to be an Avenger on your resumé won’t exactly convince anyone.”</p><p>Tony snorts and folds his arms. “Says you.”</p><p>And Peter also grumbles, “says you.”</p><p>The atmosphere between them buzzes with uncomfortable energy on the train ride into the city, and Tony can’t figure out why. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t uttered a word since leaving the platform or why he is caught up in old memories. His pride for Peter extends further than he has let off in the past, and all Tony wants is to capture everything in a scrapbook.</p><p>But he feels like he’s reaching for air. He has only had space between his fingertips, but he craves Pepper’s hands. He craves Morgan’s hugs and the feeling of tools beneath his hands. He misses the reassuring grip of a fallen comrade toward the end of a battle. A specific comrade that can’t make room to breathe through his apologies. The one right beside him on the train, playing 2048 on his phone like old times while Tony tells him which direction to swipe. Peter follows every word and he doesn’t even realize it.</p><p>But he has started to realize that, somehow, Tony is there with him. He’s still helping him and talking him through decisions. Peter always was a smart kid.</p><p>The E train fills with strangers and empties soon after. Tony can’t watch anyone else but Peter. A part of him is afraid that, if he blinks, he’ll miss something. If he blinks, he’ll be gone—he doesn’t know where he’ll go, and he doesn’t want to know where. Even in death, Tony is terrified of losing Peter, but not in the way he used to be.</p><p>All the while, a sinking feeling has found a home in Tony’s chest where the reactor used to live. Nerves, maybe. He doesn’t know. He’s scared that he might disappear.</p><p>Every step Tony takes is carefully calculated once they make it into the city. Sixth Avenue is alive and warm, strangers on phones that keep their gaze ahead, unaware of the esteemed presence brushing their shoulders. Tony knows that this won’t last forever. He can’t be stuck by Peter’s side for the next fifty years, and he can’t bear the thought of it.</p><p>Staying the same—staying invisible—while Peter grows up without him. It makes Tony feel sick.</p><p>Bleecker Street is clean, but the scenes of chaos from years ago remain. They pass him by like a current event. He can see everything clearly. He can see himself helping a woman up on the sidewalk. With a tight frown, Tony sets his eyes on the back of Peter’s head, heart pulling in an unexplainable way. The chaos vanishes. All of that is far behind.</p><p>The great window of the Sanctum stands before them. For once, Tony can’t speak.</p><p>“Jesus,” Peter whispers, tugging his headphones from his ears.</p><p>Tony sees the wonder in the kid’s eyes, and a small smile tugs on his lips. That’s <em>his</em> kid.</p><p>Peter starts up the steps slowly. His hesitation mirrors Tony’s, and each soft sigh that leaves his lips are a reflection of that. Tony wishes he could tell Peter to turn back now, but he won’t. It’s not his choice to make.</p><p>When Peter raises his fist to knock, the door transforms into a familiar set of stairs, and his knees nearly buckle beneath him. Strange stands at the top of the stairs, loyal cloak and all. And Tony can’t help but snort in laughter at the intimidation attempt.</p><p>“I saw you coming,” the wizard says as he starts his descent. He looks at Peter, and then he looks at Tony.</p><p>But he doesn’t say anything else.</p><p>Peter clears his throat and begins, “Hey—uh, I don’t know if you remember me—”</p><p>“Of course I remember you,” Strange tells him dryly. “You saved my life, I saved yours. I don’t appreciate you assuming that I would forget.”</p><p>“S-sorry.”</p><p>“Tell him why you’re here,” Tony utters to Peter.</p><p>Strange raises a brow at Tony. Still, he doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“Mister—<em>Doctor</em>—Strange, I—”</p><p>“You’re here because you have a sixth sense that you barely understand, and you think you’re being followed by some kind of otherworldly being. That it?” Strange folds his arms over his chest. “That seems kind of ridiculous, don’t you think, kid?”</p><p>Peter doesn’t know what to say. He sputters out an attempt of words and picks at the sleeves of his sweatshirt.</p><p>Strange lets out a quick hum and drops his arms. He doesn’t speak to Peter again as he rounds the cauldron carefully, picking up books from a small table, rifling through them, and tossing them back down again. “How’s your arm?” he says.</p><p>“My arm?”</p><p>“Not you.” He nods in Tony’s direction. “You.”</p><p>Tony’s neck jerks back. He doesn’t search for Peter’s reaction as he stares at Strange and lowers his brows. “Me?”</p><p>“Of course, your astral body is never quite the same as your physical body—” Strange continues without sparing a glance. He sorts through ancient-looking texts from an overflowing bookshelf. “—which is six feet under and currently deteriorating as we know it. Not that you <em>are</em> an astral body, per se. It’s much more complicated than that.”</p><p>“Okay, so what am I?”</p><p>“What’s happening?” Peter asks.</p><p>“Do I really need to dumb it down for you, Stark?” Strange says.</p><p>“Stark?” Peter’s voice is small. Like a quiet gasp. His eyes widen slowly, brows tugging up while he looks at the so-called empty space beside him. Right where Tony is, but Peter can’t see anything.</p><p>Tony would do anything to be seen by Peter.</p><p>“Your spirit isn’t at rest,” Strange carries on, finally settling on a big book with an insignia on the cover. “But, lucky for you, this spider kid has something to do with why you can effectively communicate with him.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t call it <em>effectively</em> communicating,” Tony says, huffing. “If you mean reminding him to brush his teeth in the mornings, then yeah. You can call it effective.”</p><p>“Would you please just tell me what the hell is going on?” Peter interjects. Tears have formed in his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away.</p><p>“Oh, right, you can’t see him. Sorry.” Strange flips through the book with a quick lick to his thumb, eyes scanning each page while he nods and hums to himself. “Okay, well—” The book shuts with a loud <em>thump</em>. “Don’t be alarmed, Stark.”</p><p>“Alarmed? Why would I—”</p><p>Strange pushes his hand forward in the air, and a rush of wind hits Tony. And then he’s floating. Hovering, really, and he feels lighter than he ever has before.</p><p>Peter stares up at him in horror.</p><p>“The hell did you just do to me?” Tony says, touching his hands to his chest. He’s translucent. He’s glowing.</p><p>“It’s just your astral form, relax,” Strange tells him with a wave of the hand. “It’s still intact because you clearly refuse to move on.”</p><p>“Mister Stark?”</p><p>Tony’s heart—if he even has one—shatters at the sound. It’s the voice of someone who has spent the last few months grieving. Someone who has known that he wasn’t alone all this time. A few tears have fallen down Peter’s cheeks.</p><p>“Hey, kid,” Tony says, smiling until the crinkles meet his eyes. “You really thought I’d leave you?”</p><p>Peter locks his jaw tight. “You’re dead. Y-you were—how?”</p><p>“Just like you said—” Tony shrugs. “—I’ve been <em>haunting</em> you, I guess. Sounds very un-scientific, but whatever. I’m here. Kinda. Cos’ you trusted your instincts. Somehow, you knew I was here. You’re a smart kid, really. You should give yourself more credit.”</p><p>Peter is in disbelief, and Tony doesn’t blame him. Sixth senses, ghosts, and astral forms—they make no sense. And while the information swirls in Peter’s head, he stares at Tony as if he will blink and disappear. They both know that he will have to disappear.</p><p>“You’re here,” Peter says. “You’re real.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m real—I think.” Tony raises a brow at Strange. “Am I real?”</p><p>“You’re real.”</p><p>“I-I thought I was just making it all up,” Peter continues, eyes wide and watery. “The voices, the chills—it was all you? It’s really you? Did you finish my math homework for me?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Tony huffs and shakes his head. “Calculus is the worst.”</p><p>“How’s this even possible?”</p><p>“Because,” Strange cuts in, “Stark is stubborn and always ready to die for the cause. Maybe it’s because he lost you, just got you back, and then lost you again. Whatever was going on in his head the moment he died somehow led him back to you. And then when he realized he could <em>almost </em>make contact with you, he figured he’d stick around.”</p><p>Tony shoots a glare Strange’s way. “Hey smartass, I have a voice now—I can speak for myself.” But then he turns toward Peter and says, “Okay, yeah, what the wizard said.”</p><p>“I’ll leave you two to chat,” Strange says, quirking a brow. “Don’t break anything.”</p><p>“No promises, Doc.”</p><p>“What about your family?” Peter asks Tony. “Why aren’t you with them?”</p><p>The smile that grows on Tony’s face isn’t large, but it’s sad. If he could reach out and hold Peter, he would. Everything that he has wanted to say for over five years is stuck in his throat—all he needs is the courage to say it.</p><p>“Did you know, Pete, that Morgan’s favorite superhero is Spider-Man?” Tony says, and he can feel the pride weigh down his chest. It’s a reassuring feeling. “Not me. Not that idiot over there. <em>You</em>. Bedtime stories went from Goodnight Moon to all of the times you were knocked on your ass while fighting crime. But she didn’t just love Spider-Man because he was a cool guy—”</p><p>The corners of Peter’s lips twitch upward.</p><p>“—she thought he was her brother,” Tony continues, “that’s why she loved him. I guess, what I’m trying to say, Pete, is that you’re family, too. I would’ve been half of the father I was to Morgan if it hadn’t been for you. And then you went and got all dusty on me—floating through the air like a goddamn dandelion—and I had to live with that. For five years. I watched Morgan grow up, had the most wonderful four years with her, but it never changed the fact that I didn’t have you. You’re here now because of me and I’m here because of you. I wanted to make up for lost time in the only way I could.”</p><p>More tears slip down Peter’s cheeks, and his nose is rubbed red. But he’s quiet. He’s looking at Tony so carefully, almost like he still can’t believe it. Why would he?</p><p>“I didn’t want you to go,” Peter says, voice wavering. “I didn’t wanna move on. A-and you were always here? You never left?”</p><p>Tony smiles. “I never left, kiddo.”</p><p>Peter’s bottom lip trembles. The tears come faster now, yet he doesn’t move to wipe them away. There should be a hug, Tony thinks. A clasp on the shoulder or a ruffle of the hair. Nonetheless, Tony is not physically there. And it breaks him.</p><p>“I’m okay, you know,” Peter says and sniffs. “I-it’s still hard, but I’m okay.”</p><p>“Sure you are, kid,” Tony agrees. “I’ve been with you for months. You’re okay. And you’re gonna be okay. I don’t think I can stay in this astral form forever, anyway. Plus, you’re gonna go back to fighting bad guys that are robbing Dunkin’ Donuts and ATM machines. You’ve been doing pretty well without me so far, I gotta say.”</p><p>Peter sniffs again, this time rubbing his nose with his sleeve. “Morgan thinks—she thinks I’m her brother?”</p><p>Tony smiles at the mention of his daughter.</p><p>After a long deep breath, Peter shakes his head and tries not to cry again. It’s too easy to fail. “I just don’t know how to—to be Spider-Man without you, Mister Stark. It doesn’t feel right. You’re supposed to be there on the other end, putting protocols in my suit a-and dodging my phone calls because you’re in Italy and I’m strapped to a bomb.”</p><p>“Did that happen?”</p><p>“It was a dud.”</p><p>“Wait—that <em>happened</em>? You were strapped to a <em>bomb</em>? Peter Benjamin—”</p><p>“You weren’t answering my calls!”</p><p>Tony rubs his forehead and sighs. “Okay. Whatever. You’re alive now. You just—you can’t overthink this stuff, kiddo. You were Spider-Man before I came in, right? You’ve been Spider-Man for the last few months. You never stopped being Spider-Man. I’m just a famous rich guy who gave you some rules so you wouldn’t kill yourself. But you’re gonna be okay. Okay? Cos’ I know you. And I trust you.”</p><p>Peter’s expression twists and contorts as he registers the words. Through his tears, he whispers, “I just wish we had <em>time</em>. I wish you weren’t gone. I wish I had known.”</p><p>“Me too,” Tony says. “But you made it this far without me. We can finally talk without aliens trying to kill us. And at least this time I’m not practically a vegetable.”</p><p>“You think this is goodbye, don’t you? Like, for real?”</p><p>Tony nods. Every part of him wants to scream <em>no</em>, but he knows it’s true. “I think so.”</p><p>“Please no,” Peter cries. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again.”</p><p>Tony supposes, in some way, that he might be crying, too. He tries to smile through it even though he’s failing. He knows he can’t stay. “You’re gonna be okay, Pete. I promise you. And don’t fuckin’ forget that, cos’ I swear—”</p><p>“I won’t, I won’t,” Peter says, shaking his head. His eyes are brimmed red. “Y-you said it yourself—I’m gonna be okay.”</p><p>Tony smiles for one last time. “You’re gonna be okay. I love you, kid.”</p><p>And then he’s gone. Peter is alone, but the words still hang in the air.</p><p><em>I love you, kid </em>is enough. </p><p> </p>
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